


Sweet Dreams

by assasinduckie



Series: No words needed [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Pining, wallowing in the pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assasinduckie/pseuds/assasinduckie
Summary: Riza wakes up from a sex dream. She rememorates her past sexual experiences.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: No words needed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790185
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is part of an ongoing series I’m working on where i try and fill in the blanks the canon left us of Hawkeye and Mustang's relationship! It is set some time after my last fic " No words needed", which takes place around 10 years after the end of the anime/manga, 8 years from the epilogue.  
> Also, it does have the E rating because it does have some sexually explicit content, but I don't really go much into detail about it since it's not the point of the story.  
> Hope you enjoy!

She woke up covered in sweat. The window was open, and she had gotten her legs tangled on the sheets, her upper body uncovered except for a small old tank top. She must have had it for ages now, probably back from when she was a teenager. That made her remember, she had been dreaming about him. About them. Again.

  
It was a warm summer night but the breeze that came trough the window made her shiver. She got up and went looking for a glass of water, her eyes still half closed, as the memories of the dream came rushing back. They were both covered in sweat, but not because it was hot outside. There wasn’t any outside actually. Just the bed, and the two of them. Their bodies pressed against each other, ragged breathing. And then he had started moaning her name and oh, it made her wet just to think about it. 

  
It had felt so real. It always did. But it had never been like that between them. That precious. She always had to recur to imagination because the actual memories were no good. All mixed up with fear and sadness.

  
After her father´s funeral, it had only been a mater of time. They had spent several days alone in her room, with him staring at her naked back, with all the built-up tension from when they were younger and still living together, in that same haunted house.

  
He had asked her if she was cold. She had said no, even though she was visibly trembling. He had asked her if she was comfortable, if she wanted to stop or if she wanted to lay down or sit at her bed. And she had sat at her bed. Then she had laid down. Then she had asked him to hold her. And then they had fallen asleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling him hard against her. He had apologized and started to pull away, still half asleep but clearly mortified. But she had pulled him closer, placed his hands on her breasts, rubbed against him.

  
Then they did it a couple more times like that, hiding in the night. She had cried silently, he had apologized. They had hugged until the morning and then pretended that nothing had happened. 

  
She had been so scared. Not of the sex, but about weather it was the right decision to trust him with that power. She was terrified of having made a mistake. The sex part was only to numb the sadness. To feel something else, if only for a while. To leave her exhausted enough to be able to sleep without nightmares. 

  
And the other memories were worse. Hiding at some half tore down house, in the middle of the battlefield. Sweating, with most of their clothes still on. Ready to run in opposite directions if they heard any noise, muffling their screams with their hands on their mouths. 

  
She didn’t know how many times it had been; they were all mixed up in her head. And when she remembered him moaning, she also remembered other types of moans, the ones of dying man and woman. When she remembered his smell, she could only remember the smell of burnt flesh, and gun powder and she was suddenly back at some high building, shooting at some figure that looked like a mirage, under the strong, burning sun. When she remembered the drops of sweat down his muscular torso, she remembered that time that a drop of her own sweat had fallen to her eye, at the exact moment she made her shot, making her miss that instant-death spot.

  
It had still been a fatal shot, but it had taken the guy hours to bleed out, and she had run out of ammunition to end him. The guy had crawled first, then just laid there calling for someone, maybe his loved ones, maybe his god. She hadn’t found the courage to come out of her hiding spot and finish the job. She had strict orders to wait until nightfall and then return to base to get more ammunition. And she had done exactly so. It still haunted her.

  
When she thought why she had done it, why she had fucked him like that, knowing it would give her close to no pleasure, she imagined it was just to prove herself she was still alive. Or maybe because she though she was about to die. She was so sure someone would finally make her pay, someone would find her hiding spot and make justice. But no one did. And then it was over. She didn’t want to go back, she wanted to die there. But there was no one there to impart the justice. If she wanted that to happen, she had to make it happen herself.

  
After he burnt her back, she made it clear that it was over. She didn’t have to say anything. She just got dressed up, with pain tears streaming down her face, and left. He didn’t protest. 

  
Then, when he had requested her to work for him, she had thought it was because he respected her. Because they understood each other. She wasn’t wrong but she had found out later there was something else there. He needed her.

  
She went back to the room and stood at the entrance, leaning against the door frame. There was a man in the bed, hoarding the covers. She had forgotten about him. It had taken her so much time to be able to do it again, without being transported back to the battlefield. Still, it wasn’t great. She always kept her top on. She always closed her eyes. And she kept dreaming of him. So, she only did it from time to time, when she was feeling like it and then never talked to the guy again. Mostly they were just passing by so they wouldn't even bump with each other by accident. It was easier like that.

  
The next morning, he made a joke about the dark circles around her eyes. Hadn’t she slept well? She looked quite beat up… She hid a smile and answered It had been a busy night. She had enjoyed his grumpy mood the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hope you enjoyed! If you liked it and you want to leave Kudos or a comment, I’d highly appreciate it!


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